


Wolf's Song

by Bam4Me



Series: Fur And Scales, Move Into Ever [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Animal Transformation, But not in a gruesome way, M/M, Magical Medicine sorta, Pre-Slash, Shapeshifting, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 06:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bam4Me/pseuds/Bam4Me
Summary: Jon settles into the Free Folk camp, where they help him with a problem he didn't even know he was having.





	Wolf's Song

**Author's Note:**

> jonandtormundendgame.tumblr.com
> 
> See end for random medical mumbo jumbo that I half made up but mostly didn't.

****

The Free Folk were a wonderful people. Completely and truly, absolutely wonderful.

And now Jon knew exactly why Abel had helped him -protected him, really- back in the Godswood of Winterfell.

Mance was sitting on a log around a fire in the tent Jon had been lead into, with two beautiful white doves sitting on his arm and knee respectively. The one on his knee was a shining white, eyeing Jon warily before hopping back a little so she could climb Mance’s arm to nuzzle into the chest of the other one.

“I see you’ve brought me a gift. Thank you, Lord of Bones.”

The man who had lead Jon here gave a grunt before turning around to leave, and Jon looked over at Ygritte, who was still watching him warily as she attempted to get the direwolves to settle down next to her. 

Lady seemed rather  _ attached _ to her. The girl sighed once, and thrust out her hand with Jon’s sword towards a red haired man sitting on the other side of the tent, and left, leaving Lady whining a little as she laid down, sad. Jon glared at her for a second, but she didn’t stop whining until Ghost turned to gently nip at her muzzle, licking and whining back until she was soothed and settled down next to her packmates.

It was probably the red hair. She probably missed Sansa.

“I see that beast grew fast.”

Jon looked back over at Ghost, who was standing up to Jon’s waist nowadays, twice as heavy as Jon in human form. He was barely a pup still, he had a long way to go. He was, by far, the largest in their pack. As a human, Jon felt utterly tiny next to him.

As a pup himself, he felt… well actually he felt safe. Protected. He loved being with Ghost when he was a pup, no matter how much bigger Ghost was, but as a human, he felt a little bit of dread, thinking of how much  _ bigger _ Ghost was going to keep getting. He would be the size of a small horse by the time he was done growing.

“He’s still a pup.” He winced at his own words. They sounded so unsure. Sort of scared. 

Mance smiled at him, just as amused and gentle as he’d been in the godswood at Winterfell. “And I bet you’re still just a pup yourself, huh?”

Jon looked down at Ghost for a moment, and Ghost leaned in to lick his hand in a show of support. Ever since Ghost started getting bigger than a flea he’s been all… protective of him.

Ned would have approved wholeheartedly. It sometimes made Jon feel like Ned was still there, scolding him for running about in the snow without someone to help him, then sneaking him treats after dinner when he thought Catelyn wasn’t looking. Father had been a terrible influence on his children, the rest of them scolded and spoiled in exactly the same way while Catelyn pretended not to notice.

He took a deep breath in, flexing the fingers of his left hand and wiping the place he’d been licked. The skin there felt an almost painful chill from the wet of Ghost’s tongue. True North was heavy in it’s cold. It felt like a blanket, sucking the life out of everything.

He turned back to Mance, noting that one of the doves had hopped off Mance’s shoulder, and was nested in a bed of furs closer to the fire. He watched the bird for a moment, before standing up a little straighter.

“I’m bigger now. I’ve been growing…” he trailed off, just barely holding himself back from crumpling at his own words. They made him sound like a little boy, the constant need to reaffirm his growing body or he’d never be taken seriously. 

He loved his father so much, but he never felt like anything but a pup around him.

The redheaded man next to Mance gave an amused little snort. “Don’t see why that’s so important, no way are you done growing as a human, you’ll probably be runty for a while yet as a pup.”

Jon had… he’d never thought of it that way. Dogs normally took about a year or two to grow to full size, he’s been the size of a little one for the past sixteen years now. He’s just barely started to grow now. He frowned. “I’m… I’m going to be small until I’m fully grown as a human?”

Mance looked between Tormund and Jon for a moment before nodding. “Yes. Shifters don’t start entering adolescence until their human form is in mid to late teens. By two and a half decades, you should be fully grown.”

Jon didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know why Mance Rayder pretended to be a bard to sneak into Winterfell to see the king. He didn’t know what he was going to do now that the Handhand was dead, and he wasn’t sure if Mance was going to kill him next.

“Why… why did you come to Winterfell?”

Mance gestured for him to sit across the fire with them, and Jon did, looking a little surprised when the redheaded man immediately shoved a plate of meat in his hands. Jon cautiously took a bite, and found he was starving.

Ghost and Lady immediately came over to beg for scraps, and the large man gave them a long look, before tossing them an animal that was still raw. It wouldn’t be completely enough, but they could get something else later.

Mance looked fairly amused. “I wanted to see the king. I wanted to know what made a Southron king so great. I didn’t see the appeal.”

Jon nodded, mulling it over while he ate. He wondered if there was a way he could escape the camp. Probably not. Not with his life, anyway. “You said as much. You said you wouldn’t give him the time of day if he asked.”

Mance grinned a little. “To be fair, you didn’t seem like his biggest fanatic either.”

Jon shook his head. He was less than that now. “He got my father killed. He asked him to ride south to King’s Landing, and then his son took my father’s head with his own sword. They didn’t put that detail in the letter they sent, but I saw that part myself.”

The man looked away from Ghost and Lady mauling a pair of foxes, and raised an eyebrow at Mance. “Didn’t day he was one of  _ those _ kinds of shifters.”

Mance frowned. “That’s because I didn’t know that myself, Tormund. You see visions?”

Jon shrugged. “I don’t think I do. Sometimes in my dreams I see my family. My brother is going to war to get my sisters back. Another sister is trapped in King’s Landing with the queen, the other one managed to escape, and my other brothers are still at home in Winterfell. I can’t see anyone else, just them.” He didn’t know if Bran would ever wake up again. Rickon cried constantly for mother and Robb, clinging to a wildling that had made it to Winterfell and was being held there.

He could see them. His family. Only his family. He used to think he could see his aunt and uncle across the Narrow Sea, but he’s fairly sure it was just wishful thinking. Father always said, his talents were reserved for the family his heart lay with.

Mance sighed, looking to the dove cooing on his shoulder. “I had almost hoped you didn’t know of that.”

Jon frowned. “How do  _ you _ know of my father’s death?”

Mance seemed unconcerned. “Wargs, mostly.”

Jon shook his head. “Wargs aren’t real-“

“Says the imaginary shifter who turns into a pup when he feels like it.” Tormund looked way too amused at him, leaning forward to brace elbows on his knees. He looked roguish with that grin on his face, and Jon wanted to tell him he looked like a clown, so he didn’t have to think about how nice Tormund actually looked. Which was very. 

His eyes felt dry, and he was so exhausted. Mance wasn’t going to kill him. He was the one that  _ told _ Jon to come to the Wall. To come North. He wasn’t going to kill him-

Jon’s voice shook a little, but he had to know. “What do you mean to do with me?”

Mance stared at him for a long moment, before smiling, nowhere near as roguish as the grin on Tormund’s face, before gesturing to Tormund himself. “Well, I was thinking that our dear friend Tormund Giantsbane could keep an eye on you while we make our slow trek back to the Wall. It could take a while to get there, wouldn’t want you to get lost along the way, now would we?”

Jon swallowed once, and Tormund sat up with a frown, turning to glare at Mance. “You realize he’s a direwolf from the South, right? I know half the shite they say about the southroners is bull, but I’m not looking forward to putting three wolves in with my girls.”

Jon looked honestly horrified. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t  _ touch _ them, if that’s what you mean, even south of the Wall we find that abhorrent, I would never-“

Mance held up his hands to calm the both of them down from whatever fit they were about to get in. He turned to Jon. “Jon, that’s not what he’s implying, his daughters are rabbit shifters. They’re only four and six. As you can imagine, that makes them very little. I imagine that your beasts won’t go around attacking anyone that’s smaller than a three year old?”

Jon shook his head, looking at Tormund curiously. “They… they don’t hunt unless they have to. If they’re fed regularly, they won’t hunt. They’ll only eat what’s given to them. They wouldn’t hurt anyone, no matter the form they took, but… it’s probably best to  _ show _ them that your daughters are shifters? To let them watch them transform a bit, so they understand?”

Tormund was still watching him with absolute suspicion, but didn’t voice anymore concerns. He looked away, obviously not pleased with the outcome, but willing to let it go.

“And what happens to me when we get to the Wall?”

Mance went back to smiling. It wasn’t a predatory smile. It was gentle. It was a smile that northern septas taught children was impossible for a wildling to give anyone. 

“Jon, I have no intention of hurting you. You come with us back down to the Wall, and I have the feeling we’ll clear this all up for ourselves.”

He wasn’t sure if that was meant to be reassuring, but Jon was so tired right now, he could only feel absolute relief that he didn’t have to figure it out right away.

***

Tormund was right. His daughters were absolutely tiny.

Lady has already been absolutely distracted by finding Ygritte again, who’s led her off to feed her, and the smile she’d given as she led the wolf off was so delighted, and Jon was struck dumb for a moment watching her.

When she was out of sight, he finally came back to himself, and found Tormund watching him with a pensive look to his face. “What?”

Tormund shrugged. “You looked like someone smacked you about the head with an axe.”

He expected to be accused of mooning over the girl. He’d felt, for a moment, like he had been mooning over her, but it didn’t feel like that emotion was coming from himself. He shook his head of the thought, following after the man till they got to a tent that must have been Tormund’s.

He led them through, and Jon was struck stupid again, this time by the absolutely  _ tiny _ little rabbits curled up on a pile of furs together. Tormund motioned down at them. “That’s Camih, and Juiel. They’re going to be spending most of their time with their mother in the Spearwives encampment, but you might as well shift so you can get their scent now. I don’t want you having trouble identifying them.”

Jon felt himself turning red at that. “You don’t think… that’s inappropriate, do you?”

Tormund gave him the most blank look. “Would I have asked, if I thought it was inappropriate? You’re a wolf, I’m sure you’ve used scent to identify people before.”

He has, but he’s never talked about it with anyone before. He’s fairly sure they would find it weird.

He’d never before felt embarrassed at being naked in front of others. Never once in his life. Sometimes clothes felt unnatural to him. But even still, it was different, knowing fully well that he intended to shift just so he could  _ scent _ people.

He hasn’t slept in days, and it’s cold enough that he’s shivering as soon as he’s taken the first item off. He transforms before he’s even fully out of his pants, absolutely freezing. It takes him a minute to get his bearings about him. He’s been having a weird soreness in his muscles lately. Perhaps pain from growing? He’s old enough that he should be growing regularly now, right? So he’s probably just sore from finally getting bigger.

He stood up from his furs with a stretch, getting used to the feeling of four legs and a strong nose. He put his strong nose to the furs on the ground, taking in the scent of animal hide and warmth that didn’t exist outside this tent.

He followed that scent to the small fire in the pit, sneezing once when he sniffed up too much ash, and shook his head. He heard a snort, and looked up to see Tormund picking up the watchmen’s blacks with a mue of distaste on his face, as if he didn’t want to touch the furs. He dumped them outside the tent opening with a little grunt, before pulling the strings to the opening shut, and laying the pelts across it to keep the wind out, leaving them in an enclosed little space. 

Jon was curious, and came over to sniff at the giant man, pressing his face into Tormund’s thigh, which was only something he could reach if he braced his front paws on Tormund’s knee. Tormund gave an amused little laugh this time, gently pushing him off his leg. “Go scent the girls. You’re stuck with me now, so you’ll figure out my scent soon enough, but they’ll be going back to their mom soon.”

Jon wanted to ask him why their parents didn’t live together, but he remembers a story that Old Nan used to tell when he was little, how she said the wildlings didn’t always get married to have kids. That there were so many bastards running around.

Father also said they did that in a lot of realms of Essos, across the sea. That it wasn’t as bad as Old Nan made it sound, just different than how they did it in the north. 

Jon ambled his way clumsily over to the girls on the pelts, cautiously curling up behind them so as not to wake either of them, inching closer till his nose was just barely nudging the lighter one’s fur. Camih. 

She smelled like rough cobblestone, but warmer, maybe darker. It didn’t take long to memorize her. He stuck his nose against the side of the darker furred one, Juiel, and found the scent of ice covered weirwood roots. He let out a little sigh of air at the scent of it, relaxing down into the fur pelts behind him. 

Ghost crowded up behind him, blanketing him in more heat and bracketing him into the spot. Jon moved enough to pull one of his paws into his mouth, gently gnawing at the top of it while he laid there. He sighed, deciding to close his eyes for just a minute. 

Just a single minute that lasted almost a third of the day. 

***

Ghost and Lady had watched very closely as Camih and Juiel transformed from rabbit to human a few times over the course of the next few days. They had seemed delighted every time, looking to Jon as if to point out the similarities between him and them. 

They were much smarter than regular direwolves.

When they’d gone back to their mother -who Tormund insisted he wasn’t married to, that Jon should leave his Southron values at the Wall and learn it’s not a bad thing to have children without a marriage, that the world needs more children if we’re to survive the cold- Lady had followed them all back to the Spearwives camp, where she was firmly in Ygritte’s clutches, being coddled by the young Spearwife. She was delighted that she could come play with the bunnies and Ygritte all in one place. 

Jon had just sighed, laying his chin on his front paws, gently gnawing at them, as he considered how bad Lady’s taste in women was. It was very bad taste, if you asked him. The Spearwife Ygritte came to bother him at least once a day, poking at him till he whimpered in annoyance, before gently stroking a hand through his curly fur, until he unwillingly relaxed at her touch.

Not many wolves had curly fur. He hasn’t seen many others that do, and he’d never seen one with curly fur below the Wall.

There was a hand in his fur on top of his head, too big to be anyone but his captors. Which means, it’s a toss up on if it’s Mance coming to bother him, or Tormund. They were massive men, absolutely huge and terrifying. 

They reminded him of father. He tried not to let that soothe him, but it always did. But they acted nothing like father, other than unconsciously offering him a large form to hide behind when he was overwhelmed by everything. Mance tended to play that lire he had in his tent, when he thought the mood was too quiet. Dalla, his wife, and Val, both loved to listen to it. Val pretended she didn’t. He sung too. Father didn’t play any instruments, he never sang. He told stories, he would sit with his children for hours just to tell them stories.

Tormund wasn’t like father. He didn’t know how to read, he liked to fight and he lived for danger if he thought putting himself in it could help his people. If his daughters grew up to be like him, they would be dangerous women. Dangerous but rarely wreckless unless it served their purpose.

But he told stories somes, when Jon woke up in the middle of the night, fully shifted and shaking like he’s run for hours, trying to hold back the whimpers in his throat as he realized, every time, he was still here. He still had no idea what was coming next. Tormund was always there, and he would scoop the wolf over against his side, giving gentle little noises to calm him down as they lay. He never asked what Jon feared, he never told him to shift back to human.

He didn’t give empty promises that everything would be okay. He didn’t know that himself.

Jon took a deep breath to figure out who was petting him without lifting his head, a feat that would involve shaking Ghost off his neck from where the bigger wolf was firmly planted. It was hard to scent through the cold air like this. Chill had a way of freezing out other scents, blocking off what should be one of his strongest senses.

Sometimes he wished Ghost was a shifter too, so he could ask him how to react to a body that still felt foreign some days.

It was Tormund, gently scratching that spot behind his ear that left him feeling like a wet shirt on the ground, heavy and puddling. Tormund was sitting on a log around a campfire behind him, probably come back from another meeting with another camp leader. There was always something to talk about.

He rather thought, all these leaders were like the lords of the North, constantly looking to keep their people safe, but he could guess how they would react to that comparison. 

“You’ll have to change back some time. If you go wild on us, Mance isn’t going to be pleased.”

_ Go wild… _ Jon struggled out from under Ghost’s head, making the bigger wolf grunt at him in displeasure. Jon sat up to look at him, head cocked to the side in confusion, demanding an answer to that.

Tormund frowned. “Ya haven’t been human since they brought you, you’ll go wild and lose your human side if you reject it like this, even if it’s just to sulk like ya think you’re up to right now.”

Jon considered that. He’s always eventually listened to father when he told him to change back to human. He’s never been so rebellious as to disobey him, even if he tried to fight him on it at times. He’s never been in this form for more than three days at a time, and that was only when father had been away and Jon was sulking about it.

Jon looked down, sulking more as he thought about that. It was no use denying it, he’s been sulking ever since he got captured.

To be fair, he’s been sulking since the moment he knew the Free Folk had so many shifters in them. Since he realized it was criminal to lock them up behind the Wall as if they were monsters. Since he realized, he couldn’t convince himself that it was because they were kin to him, but because of their humanity, or lack thereof, in many cases. That they were just people living their lives too, and no one deserved to live their life in fear of the dead rising against you. 

Mance told him to go to the Wall. He did. He took the vows. He swore his life to the Night’s Watch. 

Was it breaking those vows to help the Free Folk, at whatever cost he needed to, even their egos? He didn’t think helping them would break a vow, but they would see it as a betrayal. Was it wrong to follow a law, if that law puts innocent lives at risk? Yes. 

He stood up from his sulk with a stretch to pull at his sore growing muscles, and followed Tormund back to their tent, while the giant man just looked smug at his success where Mance had tried and failed to reveal Jon’s humanity enough to make him want to shift. 

It was more the fear of losing his humanity and failing to help them below the Wall that made him want to shift, than anything Tormund had actually said, but he supposed it counted for his favor. 

Tormund let him through the tent opening before coming in behind him and Ghost, closing it tight against the chill. Normally, Jon wouldn’t hesitate to shift in public if he was around those who knew about it, and here, everyone could tell, but the chill had him terrified of freezing off something important. 

He waited until Tormund took a set of newer furs out, a very light whitish colour, not nearly as dark as a watchmen’s blacks, and put them on the furs they’d been sleeping on the past few days, and Jon finally shifted back.

He breathed hard as he knelt there, trying to get past the shadow of pain that flit through his muscles. This wasn’t normal, this isn’t what shifting usually felt like. He’d planned on grabbing the new furs and wrapping up as soon as he could stand to move again, which was usually as soon as everything was settled, but he found himself sitting there in shock. 

“I’ve seen young ones shift in the middle of their growth periods before, but I’ve never seen one with such a look as that. Tell me, does it hurt that much?” Tormund was kneeling before him, unwrapping the bundle of furs to help Jon redress. Jon was getting a little tired of constantly  _ needing _ others to dress him like a helpless child.

Actually, now days, Jon was just tired. He let out a pained little moan, falling to his back on the furs so he could struggle to get his own pants and boots up himself. “It feels like… when you’ve been hit so hard the pain shocks your whole body. It might not last long, but in that moment all your strength is in not falling down or throwing up.”

Tormund frowned, batting his useless hands aside for him and tying up his strings himself, tugging at Jon’s new furs until they sat right. Jon glared weakly at him before pulling his hood up, and basking in the feeling he was so used to, of being drowned in fur with only a vague chill from the cold. Oh, it was still bloody terrible Beyond, and as soon as he left the tent again, he’d be freezing, but this was tolerable.

“It shouldn’t feel that bad, I’m not a shifter and even I know that, it shouldn’t feel like that. Stay here, nap or something, I’ll be back soon, don’t shift again.”

Jon nodded, not planning on it. He didn’t want to risk actually throwing up, and any shift this soon would likely make him bring back up breakfast. Which would then give him the disgusting instinct to re-eat it. Which he has thankfully, never once in his life given in to.

He closed his eyes for a bit of a rest, and grumbled in thanks when a fur was dropped over his body, burrowing under the stitched together blanket until he was lost to the warmth that came when his body wasn’t leached of all he could make. 

Ghost pushed his way under the blanket with him, settling into his side to help generate an actual heat that could warm Jon’s sore muscles. He hummed in pleasure at the feeling. He wondered where he would sleep now that he was in his human form again. Surely, Tormund wouldn’t want to share pelts with some human he’d just met.

***

Tormund came back with Dalla and another woman in tow, making Jon come out of his little cocoon with a grunt, unhappy at being woken. He raised an eyebrow at them, letting his displeasure at the intrusion known. Tormund just rolled his eyes, gesturing for the women to get to whatever it is they came for.

They poked and prodded at Jon, who accepted it with the grace of a pissed off cat, before the unknown one left. Jon glared at Dalla before flopping back on the pelts, still half asleep and upset. “Why are you torturing me? Mance said he didn’t want me hurt.”

Dalla looked like she was talking to a particularly slow child, arms crossed. “Jon, I’m not hurting you, I’m a healer, we want to take the pain away. It’ll make you feel more awake too.”

Tormund’s voice was low enough that Jon couldn’t fully make it out from where he was trying to hide in Ghost’s stomach. Ghost, who was supposed to be his beloved guard, who was letting people hurt him. Tormund’s voice calmed him down more than he wanted to admit, slumping down into the furs until the lady with the bony fingers came back.

She had a foul tasting tincture that the three of them tried to force down his throat, and in the end, Dalla had to bribe him with a sweet before he would accept it. He wasn’t some five year old, but being bribed to take medicine like one had rightfully embarrassed him enough to begrudgingly accept the tincture down his throat, before following it with the weird milk candy.

He was looking away from them while they watched him, and he almost expected something specific to happen, with that, but his eyelids were growing heavier. He frowned. “You drugged me.”

The bony fingered lady tossed up a hand with an annoyed little ‘bah’, sounding like she’d expected him to say something more important and he’d disappointed her. “Ungrateful brat, doesn’t know what’s wrong with his body, I didn’t drug you, you’re tired because you feel like every muscle in your body just stopped burning aflame, huh?”

He hated her, for calling him stupid. Of course he didn’t know what’s happening in his body, he wasn’t a maester. He didn’t have the training to know what’s in a body. He hated her, because she was right, and every muscle in his body felt like it was finally relaxing after the most painful swordplay with Ser Rodrik, and he was about to pass out because he didn’t know how much the muscles hurt till now. He glared anyways, captured by these Free Folk that he bitterly wanted to love and feel kin with, angry that even though it wasn’t his choice, he wanted to choose to stay here. 

He could barely keep his eyes open, and it took several attempts to reach up to rub them tiredly. He had to force the words out. “Why did they burn?”

She sounded like she’s dealt with this before. She sighs. “Your wolf side, it’s not yet grown out of a pup, sometimes it’s not sure  _ how _ to stop being a pup, how to grow like a human body does. We have to convince your body it’s allowed to grow.”

Jon wanted to ask what was in the tincture, but he couldn’t even open his eyes. He curled up against Ghost’s stomach again while they talked behind him.

“Twice a day, seven days, I’ll make him that tincture, he’ll take them, or his body will suffer for years before it learns to grow on it’s own. That first one should have already helped, but the rest will keep him from being any runtier than he already is.”

Tormund rumbled something back, but Jon just wanted to sleep at this point. Ghost was attempting to groom his head, and he tiredly pulled away from that, not wanting a cold head when he felt like death was falling upon him. 

There was a loud snort behind him. “He’ll sleep, for the next week he’ll sleep more than he ever has in his life, and you’ll make sure he stays down as often as you can.”

There was more rumbling behind him, and Jon wanted to wrap himself up in it, like a blanket. Drown in it like a lake. “Well then, you’ll just have to pack up without him. We’ll find you a sled. You said he sleeps in his other form, he’ll be fine to sleep on the walk to the new camp.”

Jon’s eyes almost opened at that, wanting to protest that he couldn’t sleep outside in this cold, but he was already gone by that point. 

***

Jon tried to struggle out of his dreams. The pain may be gone, but he was still burning alive trapped inside his new furs, under a blanket of fur, under  _ Ghost _ , now in his direwolf form. He was burning alive like that. Gentle hands pulled him out of the fur and he collapsed again, grateful to be away from the stifling heat. He collapsed back to the pelts, sleep coming back to him. 

He remembered very little of that week. He’d spent the majority of it in his direwolf form, in between dreams of warmth. In between dreams of his siblings. 

He watched Arya on the King’s Road, hair cut short and constantly fighting with two boys that Jon could  _ tell _ she must have been making good friends with. She never bothered arguing like that with anyone she truly hated. Even her fights with Sansa were often because they loved each other so much. 

Sansa, sweet little sister, Sansa… trapped with the queen in her hot castle that smelled like a half a million people living on top of each other. He didn’t understand why Sansa wasn’t constantly gagging on the smell of it. Sansa… who he wanted home and safe and away from those monsters.

Robb with their banners called to arms, going south to take back their sister and kill the bastard that took Father’s head. Robb, King in the North. As Father should have once been. 

Bran was awake in Winterfell. Awake, without use of his legs, cared for by Maester Lewin and Hodor, and a Free Folk woman who’s taken to him and Rickon while Mother was away with Robb.

Jon could feel himself keening in sadness, wishing he was there with them right now, wishing he could see them again, wishing he could curl up at his siblings sides and just revel in the feeling of home and safety with them like when they were children. Nothing is safe now. 

Other than dreaming, he would wake up when Tormund made him eat food and drink that horrible concoction that made him want to sleep forever. He usually woke outside, curled up on a sled that Lady and Ghost pulled in the snow, tucked under a heavy fur pelt while they pulled him along behind them.

He must have been asleep for at least a few days before he first surfaced fully, looking around, he found himself in a tent, still the same stuff inside, but he could tell they were in another place. Ghost was curled up behind him with his nose buried in Jon’s neck, and Camih and Juiel were in front of them, sleeping the day away as well. He nosed at them a little, gently scenting them without waking them for a moment.

It wasn’t long before Tormund -the tormentor, his mind decided- came back to force more food and medicine in his mouth again.

He didn’t really come back from the dreams for a few more days. He stayed down in his mind where he watched his siblings and fought the feeling of burning back from the surface. 

He was awake now. Awake, and he wanted to get up and stretch, he wanted to bark and run and play  _ play _ -!

He wriggled in place, trying to get out of the trappings that came in the form of Ghost’s head on his neck and Tormund’s giant arm tossed over his little body. It took some work, but by the time he was up, Tormund was groaning sadly from the pile of furs as the excitable little bundle of fur  _ refused _ to stay in place so he could sleep. 

Jon managed to get out of his prison, and yipped excitedly, looking around for something interesting to play with. Camih and Juiel weren’t here, but that’s okay, because he doesn’t want to be here either. He got to the opening in the tent, pawing at the tied together flaps. They didn’t open.

He looked back at Tormund, who was glaring at him from the pile of furs, and let out a sad little whimper, pawing more at the opening. He wanted  _ out _ , please.

Tormund kept glaring at him for another minute, before getting up with a sigh. “No. You can’t go out now. Not in this form.”

Jon growled at him, though it still wasn’t an adult sounding noise, and Tormund just snorted, bopping him on the nose to make him stop. Jon did, sitting down with an upset look on his face. He didn’t understand  _ why _ he needed to change back to human all the time. Why he was expected to be  _ tall _ and use  _ words _ . It was an affront.

Tormund reached down to gently put a hand on either side of his head, looking in his eyes. Jon melted a little, that touch felt nice, and Tormund had nice eyes like he had a nice voice. “Snow, you’ll lose your humanity if you push it away like this. You need to change back to human again.”

Oh… Jon had forgotten about that. Tormund insisted he could lose his humanity by staying in this form too long, but Jon keeps forgetting. He whimpered a little again, and Tormund moved so he could gently scratch the spot behind Jon’s left ear, the other hand gently petting between his eyes. Jon settled down again, before finally nodding. Tormund stepped back to grab the furs he’d gotten to replace those terrible crows blacks. Jon shifted back, immediately shivering in the cold of the tent. 

But he didn’t feel like he’d been stepped on like usual, he felt limber and relaxed as he took the furs from Tormund and stood to pull them on. 

He looked around for a moment. Colour was  _ slightly _ different from one form to the other, and he only just now realized the tent was darker than he thought it was.

“What time is it?” His voice was a little raw from disuse, and he cleared it once, shaking his head a little, and trying again. “Seems pretty dark out.”

Tormund nodded with a little sigh, reaching down to pull at the tent closings, holding open the flap for the previously excited pup to go out first. “I guess it’s a bit before first light. Alright, you can run about like a chicken with it’s head cut off, just don’t piss anyone off. It’s too early to save your dumb ass if you’re about to get yourself killed.”

Jon lit up at that, reaching down to scrub behind Ghost’s ears while the direwolf stretched in the snow, before heading off with his smaller companion.

Tormund just rolled his eyes at them and went back into the tent to sleep for another few hours. Not all of them got to pass out for an entire week. 

Hopefully, the kid would fit in now. 

**Author's Note:**

> jonandtormundendgame.tumblr.com
> 
> So, before you go into this wondering what's happening, a thing: I never actually looked up olden methods of curing growth hormone issues, but I DO myself suffer from these same issues, so, I don't care. Anyways, so, in the last fic I had Jon ruminate on the fact that growing so fast hurt him, and while normally this is true, I didn't realize that with my own skewed level of pain issues, what he was describing was more than likely, some sort of medical issue hurting his muscles. So, growth hormone issues. When you're not growing well, trust me, muscles fucking hurt. Anyways, so, explanation for that: since their animal sides don't start growing till they're like 15+ years old, sometimes the animal side has issues catching up and producing the right hormones to grow too.


End file.
